


Beg for Mercy

by TheEnchantedQuill



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate plot, Blood and Violence, Captives, Capture, Forced Labor, I am so mean to the characters I love, I torture my precious robot babies, M/M, Manipulation, Megatron is the Worst, Multi, Optimus is soft and gay, Prisoner of War, Psychological Torture, Ratchet has a bad time, Torture, i love them, implied interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEnchantedQuill/pseuds/TheEnchantedQuill
Summary: The Autobot base is discovered- and brutally destroyed. Megatron, rather than killing the defeated Autobots, takes them prisoner, intending to use them for labor. He decides on a special fate for Optimus, however, which includes using his feelings for Ratchet against him.This is gonna be fun.





	1. Make him Submit

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy me torturing my precious babies~
> 
> I apologize in advance for any mistakes, I'm home sick and can't really think straight, it's a miracle I created anything

The Autobots had lost. 

The searing realization struck Optimus as he was pushed to his knees. His battle mask did him a favor in covering up the pure  _ panic  _ on his face, as he watched his Autobots be dragged and thrown down beside him, protesting and feebly fighting back. The Autobot base was nothing but a burning heap of rubble; fire surrounded them, crackling and snapping. When the blast hit, none of them had been expecting a thing. None of them were prepared. 

All of the Autobots had been rounded up and forced to their knees, in a row, so the Decepticon leader could observe them. He did so with a silent grin, red optics reflecting the fire, and burning just as hot. The warlord looked down upon the fallen team, sparing each one a glance, before gesturing to Soundwave.

Execution.

Optimus was absolutely certain that that was what Megatron would do- slaughter each member of Team Prime. He pulled his field in tight to his plating to hide the fear flowing through it. There had to be something he could do. . . Negotiate, distract him while his Autobots ran,  _ something. . .  _ The weight of protecting his team was suddenly heavier than ever, enough to snap his backstrut in half. He had to save them. 

His mouth opened, but before anything could escape his lips, Megatron approached him. 

“Tell me, Optimus. What do you think I’m going to do?” The question came out in a  _ sweet  _ voice, an innocent, mocking look crossing the warlord’s features. 

Anger pulsed beneath Optimus’ armor. It swelled in his throat, and he found himself unable to speak through his rage. He was unsure where it had come from, it had appeared so suddenly. All he could do was  _ glare _ at his enemy. 

“Do you think I’m going to terminate you? Slit the throat of each Autobot here before your very optics, make you  _ watch  _ as I tear your team apart, and then give you the death you deserve?” 

The thought of it stung. It stung in his spark and in his stomach, it made his energon run cold. The only answer he could muster came out in a hoarse voice: “Don’t. . .”

A cruel laugh answered him. “Rest assured, Prime. I’m not going to kill any of you.” Behind Megatron, Soundwave stepped forward. In his servos were several pairs of cuffs. “Now, I do not wish to inflict harm on any of your Autobots. I need them. It would be such a  _ waste  _ if I had to dismember one of them, because you were disobedient. So, I will give you a choice. Come with me, without resistance, and Team Prime will not be harmed.”

“Forget it, Buckethead!” Bulkhead spat.

A scream came next. Optimus yelped in horror as Breakdown brought a blade down upon the wrecker’s shoulder, slicing into the thick armor, severing fragile wires and circuits. “No!” Optimus shouted helplessly. 

“Anyone else?” Megatron threatened. No one answered. “Good.” 

Breakdown pulled the weapon from Bulkhead’s plating, letting energon run freely across the dark armor. Bulkhead whined and groaned in pain, his arm useless now- the blow had nearly severed the limb. Ratchet, who had been beside Bulkhead, shifted closer and rested his servos on the wound, whispering in a quiet, soothing voice. 

Each autobot was cuffed, and marched unceremoniously onto the Decepticon warship. As each one passed, Megatron silently decided the fate of each one. Bumblebee and Bulkhead would work in the mines, they were strong. Arcee was small and had deft servos, she would work with Knockout, be it surgery, repairs. . . and if he needed a test subject, well, she’d be whatever he needed. Ratchet was a gifted mech. Megatron wanted him working with Shockwave, science was oh so fitting for him. And Optimus. . . Megatron needed some time to decide just what he wanted to do with him. Either way, he knew he would work each Autobot until they dropped dead. 

Getting them to comply would be quite the show. 

Soundwave directed the vehicons in putting them in cells- Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Arcee were all put in one cell together. Megatron wanted Optimus alone, and he wanted Ratchet unable to tend to his wounded comrades. Both the Prime and the medic were put in their own private cells. 

From there, they were starved. 

Megatron sat in his throne proudly, watching the days pass so  _ patiently.  _ The day that marked the second week, he had them collected into one large room- an interrogation room, but he didn’t intend on drawing information from them. They remained cuffed, and they all stood along a wall, optics faded and tired. Their systems were weak. They needed energon. 

Megatron, Soundwave, and Starscream, backed by a handful of vehicons, stood regarding their prisoners, smug and  _ gloating.  _

Megatron was satisfied with the panic they expressed towards Bulkhead. He had lost a lot of energon, and being deprived of energon had certainly drained the life out of him. He was barely able to stand, being held up by Bumblebee and Optimus. Ratchet was checking the wound and fretting over it, until Starscream snapped at him for it. 

“He needs fuel,” the medic protested, glaring at Megatron. “Starve us all you want, but he needs medical attention.”

“That will come in time, Doctor.” The warlord replied patiently. “Worry not.”

That didn’t bring any ease.

“You are captives now. If you want energon, you  _ earn  _ it. You will work for me. You will forget whatever you were before, that is in the past. Now, you belong to me. You serve a new purpose now.” Megatron began confidently. “If you resist, you will be punished. Consider yourselves  _ slaves.  _ It is all you are good for.”

“Absolutely not!” Arcee hissed.

“How fragging  _ dare  _ you,” Ratchet spat. 

Such fire. Megatron grinned. He liked this. “Optimus, tell your Autobots to stand down and comply.” 

Optimus regarded him cooly. “I can not force them to obey their enemy, Megatron. My command means nothing to them now, we are on equal footing. If they do not wish to be slaves, I can not change that.” This was partially true; he knew that even if he did order them to serve Megatron, they would resist and argue and protest every step of the way. He also knew how much they listened to him. 

“Tell your Autobots to comply,  _ now.” _

The Prime’s voice rose. “I will _ not  _ order my team to be your slaves, Megatron. Regardless of what you plan to do, I will not take part in it. I refuse to use my power to hurt them.” His voice echoed through the room, and he felt Arcee and Ratchet bristle with pride and confidence. 

“Wrong answer.” The warlord flashed his pointed denta in a sickening smile. He turned to Ratchet then. “I have a proposition for you, Medic.”

The small mech scoffed. “And what would that be?” He sneered.

“If you do what I ask, I will allow you to treat the wrecker’s wounds. I will give you the supplies you need, and I will provide both him and you with energon.” The answer was simple.

Ratchet thought for a moment, looking at Bulkhead worriedly. “What exactly do you want me to do?” He asked hesitantly.

“It doesn’t matter. Yes or no, Doctor.” Megatron pushed.

Optimus wanted to tell his medic to ignore the offer, but as he held the weak wrecker up, felt the faint pulse and the ragged breathing, he kept his mouth shut. 

“Fine.” Ratchet narrowed his optics. 

“Come here.” Megatron beckoned, smiling at him, almost kindly. Ratchet timidly approached. Megatron took him by his cuffed wrists and put him in the center of the room, in front of all his comrades, and gently pushed him to his knees. “Very good.” The warlord grinned at the medic’s tense obedience; Ratchet gritted his denta and tried to swallow his pride. He very much disliked being on his knees, submitting to Megatron, especially before an audience. 

Optimus watched nervously as Megatron knelt and whispered something to his medic. Ratchet’s optics widened and he shook his helm, but whatever was said, was repeated, firmer than before. Ratchet hissed in frustration as Megatron rose back up, and beckoned for the Prime.

“Come join us, Prime.” He chuckled.

Optimus let Arcee take over for him in supporting Bulkhead, and walked over stiffly. He was surprised when Megatron unlocked his cuffs, setting them aside. Soundwave placed something in his master’s hand. 

“Prime, you need to be punished for your reluctance.” The silver mech stated firmly. “I could beat you, burn you, torture you. . . I could tear you apart for disobeying me, but I don’t think that your resolve would break one bit. You are made of stone, Old Friend.” Optimus stared into his optics coldly. “But you do have a soft spot, Dearest Prime. I have seen it over and over again. You  _ care  _ so much about your comrades. . . But you care about your medic even more.” Optimus’ tanks churned, and fear bled into his optics. “I’ve watched you  _ stare  _ at him with such benevolence and such warmth. And perhaps,” he lowered his voice so that only Optimus could hear, “Perhaps even some  _ lust,  _ wouldn’t you say, Prime? Do you  _ desire _ your medic?”

Optimus didn’t answer. 

“Regardless, the way to break you is through your pathetic Autobots. I want you to understand that your resistance results in their suffering.” Megatron held up the object that Soundwave had given to him- a whip, long, and laced with shards of dark energon. Optimus stared at it fearfully. “How many, Starscream?” Megatron asked teasingly.

“I would say a hundred and fifty. If he can take that much.” The seeker responded gleefully. 

“He’ll take it.” The warlord chuckled.

“No.” Optimus shook is helm. “I won’t allow you to do any such thing-”

“Very well, I do not intend on doing it.” Megatron leaned close to him. “ _ You  _ will.”

_ No. _

_ No fragging way.  _

Optimus gritted his denta. “I will not-”

He was cut off by Soundwave slipping past him and pressing a blaster to Bumblebee’s helm. The scout whirred in surprise, watching the silent mech with his round optics.

The panic surging through Optimus was suffocating. “Megatron, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t hurt him.” 

“Very well. Soundwave, go ahead.” 

Arcee and Ratchet cried out in unison as Soundwave ripped Bumblebee away- causing Bulkhead to collapse, and pushed the blaster flush against his helm, it hissing to life as it activated.

“NO! No, don’t, I’ll do it!” Optimus frantically shouted. Soundwave hesitated.

“Good choice. Stand down, Soundwave.”

Optimus’ servos shook as Megatron put the whip into them, and shoved him forward. He found himself looking at Ratchet’s tense back, the medic not bothering to look back. He swallowed, trying to calm his spark. A moment passed, and Ratchet’s field brushed his, reassurance and forgiveness caressing him. He frowned sadly. His medic was giving him  _ permission.  _ He unraveled the whip, and pulled his arm back. He brought it down lightly, barely cutting Ratchet’s back, but the sudden sting causing him to flinch.

“Harder.” Megatron ordered.

A little harder. Ratchet jumped and gasped. 

_ “HARDER! _ Make him  _ bleed,  _ Prime!” 

Optimus buried a whimper, as he brought the whip down as hard as he could. Ratchet  _ screamed.  _ The sharp edges of dark energon ripped through his plating and scratched him hard, his energon finally splattering. Optimus hesitated for a moment, before he did it again. And again. And again.

Each time, Ratchet screamed. He sat on his servos and knees, shaking and bleeding, crying out in pain. 

“Medic, we made a deal.” Megatron reminded him. “You know what to do.”

Ratchet shook his helm as the whip struck again. “N-No!”

“ _ Ratchet.”  _ Megatron snarled. “If you want the wrecker to live. . .”

The whip came down again. Ratchet’s resolve finally broke. “Stop! Please, stop!” He cried out, his voice shaking. 

Optimus stopped immediately, but Megatron hissed at him. “Keep going, Prime.”

Optimus’ knees shook as he resumed. Each time, a string of pleas escaped his medic. 

“Stop, please stop, please. . . It hurts. . .” Ratchet shrieked, trembling and screaming. “Optimus, please! You’re hurting me, Primus, please stop!”

His words sunk into Optimus’ spark deeply. He made a noise of pain as he struck again. Megatron’s laughter made him realize just what was going on-

Megatron had ordered Ratchet to beg Optimus for mercy. 

Megatron was forcing him to hurt Ratchet while he  _ begged  _ him to stop.

It was all a game to break him. 

“AAUGH! Optimus! Optimus, please, I’m begging you, stop. . .” Ratchet keened, his energon dripping to the floor. . . “Optimus, please stop hurting me!” 

The lashes didn’t stop. They reached one hundred and fifty, but Megatron urged him onward. Ratchet was sobbing in pain when they reached two hundred, reduced to a pleading, bleeding heap. 

Optimus dropped the whip and made to run to him, but Megatron forced him back. “Tell your Autobots to obey me.” He ordered.

The Prime didn’t hesitate. Ratchet’s screams were still echoing in his mind as he spoke, “Autobots, stand down, and follow the orders you are given.” They nodded in understanding, silent and in shock from the torture they had just witnessed.

“Let me help him,” Optimus said, turning to Megatron. 

“Do you think he wants to speak to you after what you just did to him?” The warlord sneered, slapping the cuffs back onto him. “You will be returning to your cell.” 

As he was pushed towards the door, he called to his medic desperately, “Ratchet, I’m sorry!”

He didn’t hear his medic’s hoarse, weak reply over the vehicons ordering his team about:

“I forgive you, Optimus.” 


	2. Burn his Mind, Circuit by Circuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The torture begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for:  
\- Implied interfacing  
\- Psychological torture  
\- Blood

Bumblebee was given half of an energon cube, and taken to an energon mine. There, one of his ankles was shackled, and he was put to work. Vehicon miners stood nearby and ordered him about, pushing him to his limits, and striking him with whips if he resisted. 

Arcee was also given half an energon cube, but she was dragged off to the infirmary. Knockout put her to work cleaning. Her work started in a large room, filled with berths for sick decepticons. The air was heavy with disease and blood, many ‘cons bearing nasty infections and old wounds. The moaning of weak cybertronians echoed in her audio receptors as she scrubbed dried fluid off the floor, trying to ignore the nauseating smell. 

Bulkhead was put into Ratchet’s cell. They were given two full energon cubes and the medical supplies Ratchet needed to treat him. Knockout had applied lazy welds to Ratchet’s wounded back, but he had been instructed to leave him without proper treatment. Megatron’s cruel orders.

Optimus was restrained to an interrogation table in his cell, and given no energon. 

They were divided and helpless. 

Optimus stared at the ceiling, the only thing he could really look at, and tried to rest his racing thoughts. There had to be a way out of this. . .

Nothing came to him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


A drowsy groan, followed by a few coughs startled Ratchet from his uneasy recharge. He sat up and moved beside Bulkhead, who had woken from stasis. His wound had been patched up, and Ratchet had given him one of the cubes to replenish the energon he had lost, and the second cube sat beside them, untouched.

“Easy, you’re alright.” Ratchet soothed as the wrecker whined in pain and shifted. “How do you feel?”

“Ugh. . . Like scrap.” Bulkhead pushed himself up so he sat against the wall, rubbing his shoulder. Ratchet swatted his servo away, ordering him not to agitate the fresh welds. “Are you okay?”

The medic let out a harsh vent, subconsciously glancing at a puddle of energon from where he had been resting. “I’m fine. Here,” he grabbed the cube of fuel, pushing it into Bulkhead’s servo. “Your levels are low.”

“That was for you. You need it.”

“I’m fine, Bulkhead. You nearly offlined, your systems are weak.” Ratchet insisted. 

After a few more weak protests, the medic finally succeeded in getting his patient to consume the energon. From there, they sat in silence, both trying to relax in the stinging atmosphere.

Ratchet’s mind came to rest on his leader. Those kind optics, filled with pain as he tortured his medic, the desperate call to his medic, begging for forgiveness. . . He could only imagine the guilt Optimus was putting himself through at that moment. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Optimus was, in fact, wallowing in guilt. 

He watched Megatron tear Arcee’s spark from her chest, crushing it between cruel talons, the screams of his comrades burning him to the core. He cried out in grief, shaking his helm as the warlord took Bumblebee’s arm and savagely slammed him to the ground. The scout shrieked as his throat was ravaged by raking claws, energon bubbling out from the nasty wound. He laid on the ground, gasping and gurgling, desperate for air. Megatron only watched as the smaller mech bled to death at his pedes, Optimus pleading and protesting frantically. 

The floor was a river of blue energon, each autobot dismembered and ravaged before their leader. Megatron let out a haunting laugh as the ground beneath them vanished, and they fell into nothing.

Optimus woke with a horrified cry. He yanked at his restraints as hard as he could, the warlord’s laughter sending chills down his backstrut. 

“Had enough?” Megatron teased. 

A gasp left Optimus’ lips as he fell again, slipping back into the grasp of the cortical psychic patch for the next vision Megatron had prepared for him. 

Now, Ratchet stood before him, bound tightly, unable to move. 

Optimus shook himself from his panic, urging his spark to calm. He recognized now that he was outside of reality; even knowing this, it was hard not to run to his medic. Megatron appeared behind Ratchet, optics glimmering. “This tears you apart, doesn’t it, Optimus?” The warlord slipped his claws around Ratchet’s neck, scraping the delicate wires. “The medic you love so dearly, at my mercy. . .” He chuckled in a sinister voice. “And you have no idea where he is, or what he is doing. . . He could be dead, hurt, or perhaps even  _ perfectly fine _ . Perhaps the brutal punishment you laid upon him pushed him to serve me, and he is working in my ranks happily.” Megatron stroked Ratchet’s helm, and it made Optimus’ energon  _ boil _ . “Perhaps I have done what you’ve wanted to do for so long. . .” His pointed denta grazed Ratchet’s neck, biting the cabling teasingly. The  _ real  _ Ratchet would’ve recoiled in horror, and let out a series of curses. The Ratchet that Megatron had conjured made a soft noise of approval and closed his optics, whining softly.

Optimus gritted his denta. “If you have hurt him-”

“Oh, Optimus, I haven’t hurt him one bit. . . Only you have done that.” The warlord drawled. “But rest assured. I can’t have all the fun by myself. Here, have a turn,” Megatron snapped his digits, and the world whipped around, spinning and vanishing before materializing again. 

When his surroundings finally stilled, Optimus found himself in a welcoming berthroom, warm and calm. Beneath him, his medic laid on a berth, crying out and arching his back upward, legs spread and wrapped around his Prime’s waist. Optimus made a noise of shock, moving to withdraw, but his old friend clung to him desperately. The Prime averted his optics, tucking his field tight to his armor to keep his arousal hidden. He tried to shut out the gasps and blissful spells leaving Ratchet’s lips, this was an invasion of privacy, he felt so  _ disgusted  _ that Megatron had put him here. . . 

“Why so shy, Optimus? You could have your medic, look at him, he certainly  _ wants  _ you. . . You could take him right now, and he’d never know.” Megatron laughed from behind him. “What do you think he would say? If he saw you, deep inside an imagined form of himself? Do you think he’d like it?” 

“Enough, Megatron!” Optimus tore himself from Ratchet’s grasp, the medic immediately dissolving to dust. 

“Oh, don’t like seeing him like this? Well, I’d be happy to change it for you.” 

Again, Optimus found the room spinning around him until he found himself somewhere new. 

Ratchet was bound to a berth, tears streaking his gentle face and desperate pleas escaping him. His sparkchamber had been ripped open, his spark played with and the plating protecting it torn off. Up his legs, grill, and arms, the same word had been cruelly carved into his metal-

_ Lapdog.  _

Energon dripped from each engraving, running down the white armor. . . 

His servos had several daggers sliced through them, pinning them to the berth. His pedes had been badly burnt, he had been forced to walk over searing hot coals, or the cybertronian equivalent of them. His neck was scraped and bruised, he had been hung from it at some point. He was so, so weak. 

Optimus stood over him, trying not to cringe at the sight. This wasn’t real. Megatron was trying to get to him. He couldn’t react. 

His medic’s quiet voice made his circuits blow. “P-Please. . . Optimus, please. . . Don’t let him hurt me. . . S-Save me, please. . .” 

“I’m sorry.” Optimus whispered, activating his blaster, and firing at his friend. The conjured medic exploded into nothing, along with the berth. 

“Getting clever, are we?” Megatron snarled. “I’m not done with you.” 

The scene changed again.

Now, Optimus was standing over Bumblebee, the scout sobbing pathetically. Optimus’ servo was clasped around his torn throat, and in his other servo, was his crushed voicebox. The Prime shuddered at the feeling of his friend’s energon running down his plating, watching as Bumblebee’s horrified optics let tears slide down his cheeks.

“He looked just like that. Weak and helpless, as I tore his voice away from him.” 

Optimus let go of Bumblebee, letting him fall onto his back. He dropped the damaged voicebox, sick at the energon coating his servos. After all his years fighting in the war, energon did not bother him. But knowing it was  _ Bumblebee’s  _ energon. . .

“He didn’t deserve this. . . He is so young. . . He should never have had to fight. . .” The Prime murmured.

Another fast transition. 

Optimus was standing facing a grotesque Cliffjumper, dark energon dripping from his optics, his mouth, and the holes in his sparkchamber. . . Optimus’ blade was buried deep in his fallen comrade’s chest. The beast hissed and screeched. 

Making a noise of disgust, he pulled the blade away, and the creature slipped, severed in half, crawling towards him frantically on it’s servos. Optimus stepped back, but his left pede missed the ledge, and he tumbled downwards. He crashed into a pile of energon crystals, yelping. Cliffjumper’s upper half slammed onto his chassis, having leapt after him. Optimus didn’t have time to react before the creature sank it’s denta into his neck, ripping at the cables there. Optimus shouted in pain, servos scrabbling at the beast, shoving with all his strength, until it released him.

He gasped, a gaping hole left in his throat, energon bubbling up and pouring out his lips. 

And then the ground gave way, and he fell into nothing.

“That’s enough for now.” Megatron said to Knockout, grinning maliciously at the trembling Prime. “We shall give him some time to recover.”

Optimus forced himself into consciousness, his helm aching and his mind spinning. “Ngh. . . Why. . .” He mumbled, voice thick and drowsy.

The warlord stood over him, chuckling. “You didn’t think I’ve give you the luxury of a quick death, did you?” He crossed his arms. “Your Autobots are filled with hope and passion. That is fueled by  _ you.  _ They admire you so. . . What better way to destroy their fire, to break them into submission, by  _ shattering  _ you? Breaking you until you are  _ nothing,  _ an empty husk, that begs for death, that begs to abandon his comrades to join the Allspark. . . Do you understand, Prime?”

A growl answered him, Optimus barely keeping conscious. 

“Knockout, you know what to do.” Megatron turned on his heel and strode off, leaving the cell confidently.

The patch whirled to life again. Optimus groaned as he slipped back into it. 

When he came to, he was snuggled up in a bundle of blankets. He recognized his old berthroom immediately, the familiar surroundings holding a soothing effect on his spark. He sat up frantically, preparing for whatever evil Megatron had planned for him. 

One of his servos whacked a hard surface, and a quiet noise of pain followed. “Optimus, what is it?” 

He winced.

It was Ratchet. 

Ratchet, in his berth, under his blankets, looking at him tiredly. 

Optimus set his jaw, and shook his helm. “It’s nothing, Ratchet.” 

This was so cruel. 

The scene didn’t change, it stayed steady. Megatron had prepared a dream for him to suffocate in until the next torture session. He sighed, turning his back to Ratchet, and laying back down, careful to make sure he didn’t touch his medic. He was so tired. . . He truly did need rest. . .

He slipped into recharge, ignoring the anxiety plaguing his spark. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“What do you think is going to happen next?”

Ratchet stared at the floor. “I imagine Megatron will spare you some time to heal, so you could go to work. . . Heavy work, with your frame. . . I’ll most likely go to Shockwave, to follow his orders. Putting it simply, labor.”

“Hopefully, we’ll get reunited with the others. That way, we can form some kind of escape.” Bulkhead said hopefully.

“Megatron won’t allow us to stay together. Why do you think we’ve been divided? It’s to keep us in line.” The medic rubbed his temple, sighing. “I don’t think it will be that easy.”

“Optimus will figure out something.” 

Ratchet sent him a frustrated look. “And how will he do that without all of us together?” He snapped. “How could he possibly ‘figure something out’ without his team?”

Bulkhead answered with the same energy. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Ratch!” He fired right back. “I can’t just sit here and feel sorry for myself, and if we can’t find something to be hopeful for, why bother? Why not just let them kill us!?” 

“You’re just going to expect Optimus to save us? Like he always has? Be realistic, Bulkhead!” Ratchet let his voice rise, unreasonable anger burning in his optics. “Optimus can’t just  _ fix  _ everything! He’s a prisoner, just like us. . . He can’t fix  _ anything _ !”

“Guess you have that in common with him, huh?” The moment those words left Bulkhead’s mouth, you could glimpse the regret in his optics.

Ratchet recoiled as if he had been struck, rising to his pedes and moving to the opposite wall. Fury was rising in his tanks, his voicebox, his optics. . . It was quickly replaced with hurt. He stifled his defeated gasp, as he turned his back to Bulkhead. It  _ stung.  _ It was painfully true. . . He had failed to fix so many things. . . He had failed so much. . . His servos trembled, clenched into fight fists, battling to keep calm. 

There was the shifting of plating; Bulkhead was standing up. “Ratchet, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re right.” The medic whispered softly. “I can’t fix anything. I. . . I have failed so many Autobots. I’ve watched so many soldiers bleed to death, helpless to save them. . . So many innocent cybertronians, their blood is on my servos. . . I couldn’t fix Bumblebee’s voicebox. . . I failed him, I failed them all. . .” His optics squeezed shut.

A servo rested on his shoulder, and he twisted away. “No, that’s not true, I only said that. . . I only said that to hurt you, I was angry. You’re the smartest ‘bot I know. You haven’t failed anyone, you saved Bee’s life.” Bulkhead blurted out frantically, guilt and regret flooding his field; it timidly brushed Ratchet’s in a plea for forgiveness. 

Ratchet inhaled deeply. “Sit down, you need to rest so you can recover. Let’s just forget this ever happened.” He pointed to the corner where they had been sitting. 

The wrecker obeyed with a sigh. “I really am sorry, Ratch. . .”

“It’s fine.” The medic sat beside him, staring straight ahead, trying to calm the hurt and repressed demons clawing at his spark. 

An agonizing minute of silence passed. 

“Do you think we’ll get out of this?” Bulkhead asked quietly. “Honestly, what do you think?”

Ratchet closed his optics. “I don’t know.”

“There are more Autobots out there, if there was a way to reach them. . . Fowler is bound to try something, when he realizes we’re gone.” The wrecker offered. “Wheeljack is out there.”

Ratchet scoffed. “Thank Primus for Wheeljack, then.”

There was a flicker of hurt in Bulkhead’s field, and Ratchet looked at him.

“What I mean is, he’s alone. There are no other Autobots to help him, he can’t take on all the Decepticons by himself.” 

“Someone will think of something. And. . . I think Wheeljack will figure out a way to contact us. He’s smart, he’ll find something.” Bulkhead insisted. “I believe in him.”

Affection swelled in the wrecker’s field, before he pulled it in to hide it. Ratchet pretended that he didn’t notice, rolling his optics. 


	3. Watch him Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron uses Optimus' care for Ratchet to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys
> 
> I torture the fuck outta my baby in this chapter
> 
> I love him so much and therefore HE MUST BLEED
> 
> I'm sorry for any mistakes, I'm sick and loopy :))))))))

Today marked another week.

Optimus had begun to notice a pattern in Megatron’s methods of torture. That was somewhat reassuring, he knew what to expect, he was rarely caught off guard. 

First, the cortical psychic patch. Repressed, violent memories would resurface, and he would live through them once more. It would turn into the members of Team Prime, each one being ripped apart right before him. Sometimes it was him doing it, sometimes it was Megatron. Then, there would be a sudden change of mood. He would see Ratchet. The visions Megatron put him through were shamefully what he had fantasized about in all his time knowing Ratchet. They were romantic, sexual, and wildly inappropriate. While they were what he had always  _ wanted,  _ it brought heavy guilt and shame to him. Seeing Ratchet in all the ways he did, without Ratchet’s consent, was such a violation of his privacy. . . He did what he could, to keep himself from enjoying the sick ways Megatron used his medic to taunt him. Megatron used his medic in so many perverted ways, doing things that would make Unicron blush, and it made Optimus  _ burn with guilt.  _

And then, from the sweet, loving visions of Ratchet, it would turn into sickening torture. He would watch Ratchet be hurt and ravaged and broken. 

And finally, he would wake from the nightmares, and Megatron would move to torture on his real frame. These methods varied on how the warlord was feeling. Sometimes, it would be Knockout, or Starscream, or Shockwave. He would be tortured, given a light amount of medical treatment to remain alive, and then would be left until the next day. 

The pattern was all he had to look forward to- get through it, and rest. All he had to do was endure. . . And keep himself from breaking. He had to keep himself together for his Autobots. 

Unfortunately for him, the pattern was about to change.

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Megatron entered Ratchet’s cell, he knew something was going to happen. The warlord greeted him by taking him by the neck and tossing him aside, which was rather unnecessary, it wasn’t like the medic was putting up any fight. Bulkhead glared at him as the gladiator inspected him. “Medic, what is his condition?” 

“He is healing.” Ratchet shakily got back up. He was low on energon, his systems begging for fuel. His legs trembled as he spoke, “Another week and he should be fully recovered, unless the wound is agitated through strenuous activity.”

“Very good. He shall join the scout in the mine. Your work starts today, wrecker.” Megatron grinned. He turned to face Ratchet. “And now, for you.”

The medic knew he had something planned. It was unlike Megatron to just come to a cell to check on a prisoner, he had hundreds of Decepticons that could do that for him. There was a reason that he himself had decided to come, and grace them with his presence. “What do you want, Buckethead?” Bulkhead snapped.

The wrecker went ignored. “Your leader requires some attention, Doctor. Do you care to see to him?” The question came out in a smooth drawl, welcoming, but so dangerous.

This had to be a trap of some sort. Ratchet wasn’t daft. But the offer to see his leader. . . He knew that Megatron had to be inflicting harm upon him, what if the Prime needed him? What if Optimus was in pain and needed Ratchet’s help? The concern on Ratchet’s features seemed to answer Megatron’s question.

“Come along, dearest Ratchet.” 

Casting one last glance at Bulkhead, the medic followed the warlord out of the cell, and through the dark halls of the warship. They came to a jagged pair of doors. Megatron entered a code, and they slid back sharply, revealing a dimly lit room. The scent of energon hit Ratchet immediately, and he winced. Optimus was on his knees, chained to the floor, wrists and ankles tightly bound. 

“Ratchet?” His leader met his gaze. 

Medical instincts kicked in, and Ratchet immediately dove to his Prime’s aid. There were crisscrossing lashes across his back, much like Ratchet’s. Several gashes were laid about his chassis, and claw marks decorated his handsome face. It seemed that Megatron had used his talons and his blade primarily, thus far. They were simple enough to treat. Ratchet welded them and applied patches, speaking softly and gently to his leader. 

“Ratchet, I’m so sorry,” Optimus murmured to him.

“You don’t have to be, Optimus. Are you in pain? Do you need anything else?” 

Megatron placed an energon cube in the medic’s servo. Ratchet nodded to him, and held the cube up to Optimus, letting him sip the fuel until it was empty.

“Good, good. Now, let’s begin.” His tone darkening a bit, Megatron took Ratchet’s wrist in one servo and pulled him away from Optimus, the empty cube clattering to the floor. “Hold still,” he ordered, releasing his prisoner.

Ratchet stared at him, puzzled, as Megatron dipped his talons into a small can of black paint. He then dragged his coated digits across Ratchet’s chest, marking a circle around his plating. Confusion bled into Ratchet’s field; he watched as Megatron drew circles around certain parts of his frame. The medic quickly recognized a similarity in each part he marked- they were pieces of armor that stood out more, none of them important to Ratchet’s functioning, but protective plating that covered delicate circuits and wires. The doors of his vehicular mode, which sat on his chest, were marked first, along with his wheels, the pauldrons protecting his shoulder blades, panels around his wrists, and so on. 

“What are you doing?” Ratchet finally asked, as Megatron flicked the excess paint off his claws. 

“Quiet.” Megatron hissed to him, before approaching Optimus. He hastily released him from his chains, jerking him to his pedes. “Do you see the pieces of your medic I have marked?” He asked, gesturing to the puzzled doctor. Optimus hesitantly nodded. “Rip them off.” 

“What?” The Prime sent him a baffled look. 

“You heard me. Don’t be gentle, either. If he doesn’t bleed and scream, I will find more to tear from him.”

Optimus’ field flooded with anger. “Do not bring Ratchet further into this, Megatron. I will not inflict more harm upon him.”

Soundwave stepped forward then, his screen lit up with a live feed. Optimus’ spark sank as he watched a pair of vehicons place activated blasters to Bulkhead’s helm and chest. “It’d be a shame if he had to die. He could do some great work for me.” Megatron spoke casually, as if he wasn’t threatening the life of one of Optimus’ comrades.

“Just do it.” Ratchet muttered. They both looked at him.

“You heard him.” The warlord gave Optimus a rough push. 

On timid pedes, Optimus approached his medic. His field reached out, gently brushing Ratchet’s comfortingly. The doctor's field was tense and nervous. “I’m sorry.” The Prime whispered. He offered a servo, palm facing the ceiling. Ratchet vented, long and slow, before placing his servo in Optimus’.

Large servos gently caressed his wrist and forearm, Optimus trying to soothe his medic. His digits gently pressed to a piece of plating Megatron had marked. Ratchet bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.  _ Better do it quick,  _ Optimus said to himself. He squeezed Ratchet’s servo reassuringly, before he tore the piece of armor clean off. There was a spurt of energon, and Ratchet cried out, instinctively pulling at the grip on his servo. “Frag. . .” Ratchet cursed quietly. Optimus moved up to his bicep, making quick work of the plating there. Ratchet yelped. These bits of armor were significantly less sensitive, the worst was to come. Optimus moved to the other arm next, tearing off the armor that Megatron had marked there. 

Energon streamed down Ratchet’s arms. He gritted his denta, but he wasn’t in immense pain. . . Yet. 

“Where next?” Optimus asked gently.

The medic thought for a moment, before turning around. His two shoulder blades were marked, along with one marking on his upper back. This would be much more painful. He closed his optics as Optimus smoothed his servos over his shoulders, massaging the metal gently. The Prime’s left servo rubbed Ratchet’s shoulder in a soothing manner, while the right servo tore the armor, along with several wires. Now, Ratchet screamed. Energon splattered as he doubled over, in an instinctive move to escape the grip, but Optimus draped an arm around his waist and held him there. That arm supported his weight as the other shoulder blade armor was ripped off. He keened desperately, gasping as his energon ran a river down his spine. In a similar fashion, the armor on his back was torn from him as well. He let Optimus take his weight, as he gasped in pain, optics squeezed shut. 

One servo traveled to his chest. Optimus pressed Ratchet’s back against his chassis, so he could reach around the front of him and wrench the doors from Ratchet’s frame. Ratchet screamed even louder, squirming and weakly resisting. The Prime buried his guilt and tenderly laid Ratchet on the floor so he could tear the wheels out from behind his ankles. This wasn’t as agonizing, and Ratchet only yelped and cried out, and then came the wheels in his elbows. 

It didn’t take long for all the armor Megatron had marked to be discarded on the floor. Optimus held Ratchet in one arm, whispering frantic apologies as he pressed the wounds to stop the bleeding.

“I’m so sorry, Old Friend. I’m so, so sorry.” He whimpered gently. 

“We aren’t done here, Prime.” Megatron approached, grabbing Ratchet by one of his injured shoulders and hauling him from the safety of his leader’s arms. 

“Yes, we are. This is enough, look at him, he’s badly damaged.” Optimus protested.

Megatron chuckled, shoving Ratchet to the floor, pushing him onto his stomach. “Stay right there, medic.” Ratchet whined in pain, but obeyed.

Soundwave stepped forward, holding out an object to Optimus. The Prime reluctantly took it. 

It was a handheld device that was used for branding flat surfaces. Before the war, bigger devices like it where used to burn directions, logos, and designs onto walls. It was also used to apply the Autobot or Decepticon insignia onto cybertronians. It caused little pain, if applied to thicker armor. Optimus’ insignia sat on his shoulder, where his delicate wiring was protected by a bulky pauldron. Thus, it wasn’t particularly painful. 

“Activate it.” Megatron ordered.

Optimus flipped a switch, and it hummed to life, slowly heating up. There was a handle that wouldn’t increase in temperature, making it safe to hold, but the blunt surface (somewhat like a human clothing iron), where stencils for designs would be put, began to glow orange. It would take a few minutes for it to reach its maximum heat. 

Meanwhile, Megatron was stroking Ratchet’s wounded back with teasing talons, chuckling as the medic squirmed, his gashes stinging with the touch. “Don’t worry, dear Doctor, I won’t hurt you like your leader has.” He purred mockingly. Ratchet gasped as the warlord pinched his exposed, bleeding wires. 

“Enough.” Optimus snapped. 

“Are you wondering what I expect to gain from this?” Megatron ignored him, continuing to play with the sensitive, painful circuitry along Ratchet’s ravaged back. “Are you, Ratchet?” He cooed, flicking a wound roughly. Ratchet flinched and nodded, complying with whatever game the warlord was playing. “I am hoping that this shows Optimus what happens when he doesn’t submit to me. He has quite the soft spot for you, and I intend on using it to my advantage. With you here, nothing will stop your precious leader from bowing to my will.” 

“He fragging better not,” Ratchet muttered, more to Optimus than Megatron. He didn’t want Optimus to break, regardless of what would happen to him. The Autobots needed their Prime to stay strong. 

The branding device had reached its highest temperature. Optimus stared at the glowing, hot device fearfully. He could see where this was going. Megatron stood and backed away, gesturing to his medic. 

“Right where his armor is missing, Prime.” The warlord ordered. 

Optimus cringed. Burning away at those circuits could cause permanent damage, burnt wires were extremely difficult to repair. They were so sensitive and so delicate already, but applying searing heat would be excruciatingly painful. He shook his helm. “That’s too far.” 

“Very well, you can stop whenever you want. I’ll have my drones obliterate Bulkhead right now, if you’d like.”

“N-No, no. . .” Optimus tried to hide the fury in his field, he didn’t want Ratchet to sense the fire that was coursing through him. His medic needed comfort. He knelt beside his friend, biting his lower lip. “Ratchet. . .”

“Just get it over with.” Ratchet curled his servos into fists. 

Optimus applied the hot, blunt surface against the center of Ratchet’s upper back. It hissed, and there was a sickening snapping noise as wires seared and popped. 

Ratchet  _ screamed. _

This was louder than Optimus had ever heard it.

The medic had no control over his voice, and he involuntarily began to struggle. Optimus pushed on his back, holding him down, trying to block out the wails of agony. They echoed through the room, louder than anyone’s thoughts, traveling through the vents so anyone nearby could hear them. Ratchet screamed desperately, crying out and squirming as much as he could. The device moved to his exposed shoulder blade. Hot, boiling energon slipped down Ratchet’s frame, as he cursed and screeched. 

His energon was  _ sizzling _ . Steam was rising from the wound. His circuits made popping noises as they were burnt beyond repair.

Optimus’ servo was shaking uncontrollably as he pressed the device to the last exposed area on his back, the other shoulder blade. The string of cries and pleads that left Ratchet sank so deep, drowning his spark, making it hard to breathe. His rage was boiling up, thick in his throat, making his optics feel dry and rough, making his jaw clench tight. At last, he pulled the device away, and  _ hurled  _ it across the room, releasing a keen of anger. He brought his fist down onto the ground hard, punching a dent in the floor. His servo now aching, he scooped Ratchet up, pulling him close and out of Megatron’s sight, rotating his own body. His field curled around them protectively.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. . .” He chanted in a broken mantra, visibly shaking as he begged for forgiveness. 

Ratchet’s optics were squeezed shut, his face tight with pain, curled into a fetal position against his leader. “I-I’m okay, Optimus. . .” He lied through gritted denta. 

“He needs medical attention.” Optimus spat at Megatron.

“I don’t think so.” The warlord replied casually.

Optimus set Ratchet down and stood, whirling around to face Megatron. His enemy grinned at him. His field was whipping around him wildly, pure  _ fury  _ suffocating his large frame. The smile on the warlord’s face made something click- 

His anger was exactly what Megatron wanted. Megatron wanted to pull it out of him, push him and push him until he finally broke and collapsed. 

If he wanted Ratchet treated, he would have to try something else.

A sickening feeling rose in his throat. 

He had to submit. 

He was so, so glad that the only Autobot here to witness this was Ratchet, who was focused on his own pain. 

Optimus lowered to his knees shakily, sighing, trying to soothe his anger. “My lord,” he said quietly, “Please. Please help him. I beg you.”

Shock crossed Megatron’s face, but it was quickly replaced with a sheer look of pleasure and approval. “What was that, Optimus? Speak up.”

“ _ Master _ , please help him.” Optimus begged. “Please, My Lord. He needs to be treated. Please help him.” 

A cruel laugh escaped Megatron. He turned to Soundwave. “Send for Knockout.”

Optimus’ wrists were cuffed, and chained to the wall, with a short leash to give him some slack. He bit back his anger as Soundwave forced a collar around Ratchet’s neck, and chained him to the wall by it, also giving him some slack via chain leash. 

Knockout treated Ratchet’s wounds- somewhat. He did nothing to reduce the pain, only made certain that Ratchet would keep his functionality. 

And then, they were left alone together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :D


	4. Can you imagine that?

Ratchet had slipped into a painful recharge soon after Megatron’s session ended. His leader’s warm field against his was what comforted him to fall, Optimus’ protective and caring energy wrapped around him like a blanket. 

When that blanket was torn from him, he woke. Optimus was being taken into the next room, to be hooked up to the cortical psychic patch, he later learned. Ratchet stirred and shakily sat up, wincing in pain. “Don’t touch him,” he heard Optimus faintly protest, as thundering pedesteps approached. 

And then, Optimus was gone.

Ratchet shook himself from his bleary state, forcing his systems online through the pain and drowsiness. Megatron crouched in front of him.

“Tired, Doctor?”

“Frag off.” The medic snapped.

Talons hooked onto the collar around his neck, and pulled his helm closer to that of the warlord’s. “I’ll ensure you make a full recovery from your injuries, Dearest Ratchet.” Megatron purred. “All I need is your cooperation.”

“Go bother someone else.”

“I will, once we’re done here.”

“Then get on wi-mmph?” Ratchet’s field flared sharply in surprise when scarred lips sealed over his own. He cringed at the taste of Megatron’s glossa in his mouth, and the domineering energy surrounding his field. 

What was Megatron doing? 

Ratchet pulled away from the kiss, hissing. “And what do you think you’re doing?” He demanded. 

“Quiet.” The warlord jerked him back roughly and pushed his invading glossa back to mingle with Ratchet’s. The medic made a noise of frustration into Megatron’s lips, his angry field pushing at Megatron’s in protest. 

The gladiator pulled away, nodding in approval. “I’m sure I can make something out of that.” He said in confirmation, more to himself than Ratchet. “Knockout will come get you later.”

He turned on his heel and left in the direction of Optimus and the patch, casual as ever. Ratchet stared after him, confused and lost. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The world forming around Optimus was bland and grey. He looked around, sighing, waiting for whatever would start that day’s torture session.

Megatron materialized before him, wearing the familiar smirk of his. “You’re lucky today, Prime.” He drawled tauntingly. “I’m in a good mood.” Optimus stared at him blankly. “Don’t you want to know why?”   
  


“I don’t want to play your games, Megatron.” The Prime said tiredly.

“Ask me why I’m in a good mood.” The warlord pushed.

A long sigh left Optimus. “Why are you in a good mood, Megatron?”

Their surroundings whipped in a tight circle around them, and then they were standing in the cell with Ratchet.

There was something different, though. The energy surrounding them was significantly different, thick with darkness and malice.

Optimus realized that he was in Megatron’s mind after a moment of thought. The torture had always been in his own helm, why was it now different? Why did Megatron invite him into his head?

Megatron seemed to sense his confusion and said, “I have some memories I would like to share with you.” He grinned. “Involving your  _ pretty  _ medic.” 

It was uncomfortable that Megatron described Ratchet in that way. Optimus narrowed his optics. 

“I made Ratchet an offer. One he couldn’t refuse. One that ensured he could live in comfort for the rest of his days. Alongside  _ me _ .” The gladiator hissed, red optics gleaming with satisfaction at the disbelief on the Prime’s face. “Would you like to see?”

Ratchet appeared, just as Optimus had left him. He recognized this scene as a memory, his tanks twisting. Megatron approached Ratchet slowly, murmuring to him. Optimus couldn’t make out the words exchanged, but the nod of agreement from his medic was self explanatory.

When Megatron kissed Ratchet, he had to tuck his field in close to his plating to keep his emotions from getting out of control. He gritted his denta as the scene drove on, Megatron drinking in his reaction with satisfaction.

_ Megatron’s clawed servos stroked down Ratchet’s side, pushing against him hungrily. Ratchet made a quiet noise of approval, gasping into the warlord’s mouth and pulling him closely, gripping his sharp plating. The dark room was filled with quiet moans and gasps, and armor rubbing against armor. “M-Megatron!” The medic whimpered against the warlord’s lips in a quiet plea.  _

“That’s enough,” Optimus turned his helm away. 

It. . . hurt, seeing that. If it had been in his own mind, he would have dismissed it for some perverted fantasy Megatron had created, but this was a  _ memory,  _ in Megatron’s own mind. 

Had Ratchet really surrendered to Megatron? And. . . Kissed him? 

Betrayal bloomed in Optimus’ spark, in a frigid wave. 

What if this was his fault? What if Ratchet was hurt that Optimus had tortured him, and it had driven him to submit to Megatron? 

The scene crumbled, and he fell into the abyss.

When he woke, he was alone in his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're unclear, Megatron used his lovely imagination to exaggerate his experience with Ratchet to set Optimus off.


	5. A New Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron keeps coming up with ideas to torment his captives. Optimus isn't doing so hot, and Ratchet is just angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, sorry for the wait :))))

Depression wasn’t a new concept to Optimus. He had lived a long life, had fought a long war, had watched his old life crumble before him. He had been torn down, slandered, beaten, attacked, and traumatized. But there was always something in his chest, a driving thought, a purpose. There was always pride. He didn’t admit it very often, but he was very proud of his cause and his team. The Autobots he created, the friendships that budded between them, the family that they had become. He was so, so proud of his team. In all of his hardships, that swell of pride deep in his chassis had filled him, filled the void, keeping his head just up above the waves of despair.

He wasn’t feeling very proud now. 

Now, he was sinking, deep beneath the surface, drowning in the dark.

Just. . . Empty. He realized this with a saddened pang. There was nothing there, no thought to hold on to, no comfort to hold in his spark. He was empty in the spark and in the helm. 

He had beaten and tortured his best friend in front of his Autobots. He had whipped Ratchet until the poor medic begged him to stop. He made Ratchet scream and plead for mercy. In front of his team. 

He wasn’t proud anymore. 

Megatron, however, was. 

The warlord would prance into his cell, and boast about how much fun he was having with Ratchet, how the other Autobots had finally given up fighting and were now happily helping and working under him, how everything Optimus had built was crashing down.

Optimus listened with little interest as Megatron spewed depressing details, but then came the patch. Then he would  _ see _ how his Autobots were doing.

Arcee, working with Knockout, laughing, sparring with the vehicons.

Bulkhead, directing the miners, Bumblebee under his command, and equally happy. 

And Ratchet. Megatron always saved the best for last.

Optimus was so tired of watching Megatron kiss him savagely, pin him to a berth and have his way, Ratchet eagerly allowing him to do as he pleased. 

It hurt so fragging much.

Memory by memory, Optimus felt his resolve shrivel to dust. He felt. . . Abandoned. But it wasn’t like he could be angry, it was  _ him  _ that did this. It was him who hurt Ratchet so badly that he ran right into Megatron’s arms. It was him that frightened the Autobots into losing their faith in him. All he could think about was their horrified faces as he brought the whip down on Ratchet’s trembling back. And if they had seen Optimus rip Ratchet’s armor off and burn him where it would hurt the most. . . 

This was his fault. 

He was defeated.

Megatron had him confined in a large room, pitch black. Or, perhaps it was lit. . . Optimus wasn’t sure. Knockout had been ordered to disable his optics. He wasn’t sure why, perhaps it made him less of a threat, or perhaps Megatron just liked seeing him look helpless. He certainly felt helpless.

The only time he could see was when he was hooked up to the patch. There, he would mainly watch Megatron and Ratchet roll around together like crazed animals. Megatron knew that those memories were the ones that hurt Optimus the most, knowing that the medic he loved submit himself like this. And knowing that Ratchet was  _ happy  _ like this.

Optimus felt like he had never been able to make Ratchet happy. Ratchet was always insecure, stressed, angry, exhausted, and helpless. He tried to make time for his medic, but Ratchet simply wouldn’t accept his help, choosing to continue down his tired path alone. And now, Ratchet was sitting on Megatron’s lap, kissing him like his life depended on it.

He missed his medic so much.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Let me see Optimus!” 

An empty energon cube flew past Megatron’s helm, hitting the wall and shattering. A sneer crossed his lips. “You missed,” he taunted, whirling around to face the angry medic, only to have a second cube- half full this time- hit his face and crack painfully. The blue fluid splattered over his face and chest, and then creating a puddle on the floor. Megatron’s fists shook with anger. The  _ audacity  _ of this medic-.

“I’m fragging  _ done  _ with your sick games, Megatron!” Ratchet shouted furiously, his voice echoing through the brig. He was feeling much better, his wounds treated and energon restored. His fire was replenished, and the realization that Megatron had kissed him while he was weak seemed to click in. He was angry, confused, and wanted to know why the  _ frag  _ Megatron had done it, it had to have something to do with Optimus. Megatron didn’t just intimately touch him because he enjoyed the other’s company, it had a purpose. “Let me see him.” He demanded.

It wasn’t a surprise that Megatron struck him. A quick backhand, just to shut him up. “I have been generous to you,” the warlord snarled as Ratchet stumbled a bit. “I could have let you bleed out. I could have let you perish at your leader’s hands. I would have  _ relished  _ the sight of him cradling your lifeless husk.” Ratchet straightened up, regarding him with furious optics. “But I let you live. I let you serve a purpose.”

“Oh, how  _ kind  _ of you!” The medic spat.

“Your behavior is out of line.” Megatron had to take a deep breath to keep his anger in check. “You wouldn’t want Optimus to have to pay for your disobedience, would you?” He grinned a little. The flash of panic in Ratchet’s optics was enough to calm him.

“Don’t fragging hurt him anymore,” the medic’s voice lost the fury and fire to it, and it came out as more of a plea. 

“Our next session is coming up. Perhaps we’ll do a little  _ extra, _ just to remind you of what happens when little medics don’t obey me.” Megatron approached him, each stride punctuated by his threat. Ratchet stiffened as he came closer, refusing to back away or show fear. “I’ll even pay him a visit today. How does that sound, my lovely little Pet?” Clawed talons stroked the medic’s face, and he jerked his helm away. The same servo drifted down to brush over his abdomen, hovering right above where his gestation chamber was protected by layers of mesh and armor. “Hm. You never fail to inspire me.” Megatron grinned.

And then, the warlord promptly left.

Ratchet stood in the same spot, staring at the door, a mixture of confusion and panic whirling through his optics. “What the frag just happened?” He said aloud to himself, covering his face with both servos.

What was Megatron trying to do?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Optimus had been left alone all day, it was just him in the dark, sitting against the wall in his corner. The quiet was more pleasant than the Decepticons coming to taunt and torture him, but he didn’t take to being left alone with his troubling thoughts much, either. He couldn’t decide which was worse.

The doors hissed open, and he didn’t acknowledge the approaching pedesteps. He recognized the heavy strides as Megatron, and he didn’t feel that the warlord deserved his attention.

“I have exciting news, Prime.” Megatron stopped in front of him. “Don’t you want to hear?”

When Optimus didn’t answer, an electric shock pulsed through him. He swatted the prod away with a yelp. “What is it, Megatron?” He growled.

“There will be a new heir to the Decepticons.” 

_ Why the frag should Optimus care? _

“What do you want me to say, Megatron?”   
  


The tyrant’s voice was so upbeat and enthusiastic, that it made Optimus want to strangle him. “Do you know what that means?”   
  


“You’re handing your position over to Starscream.” Optimus halfheartedly guessed.

“No. . .” Megatron leaned closer, and a moment of silence passed. “ _ Ratchet is carrying my sparkling.” _

Optimus felt his tanks drop through the floor, and a wave of hot fear burnt his circuits. His vocalizer had to reset with a click, before he sputtered, “What?”

“I’m surprised too. I thought he’d be too old to bear a newspark, but I was wrong. Your medic is going to have my heir. Isn’t that exciting?” 

The Prime felt his spark pounding frantically in it’s chamber. Was Ratchet really sparked? Did. . . Did he want to have Megatron’s child? He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that it bled, the taste of his energon bitter on his glossa.

“That gets to you doesn’t it, Prime? I bet you’ve dreamed of the day that you saw your pretty lapdog heavy with your offspring, I bet you’ve longed to put a sparkling in him. You love him so much, you wanted to start a family so badly. I know you, I know how much you dreamed of having a family, ever since you were Orion Pax. Ratchet seemed perfect, didn’t he? Wasn’t he your dream come true? And now I’ve taken that from you. It is  _ me  _ that put a sparkling in your medic, it is  _ me  _ that will be the sire. And it’s all thanks to you. How does that feel, Optimus?”

It wasn’t often that Optimus had an outburst of anger, he was a very controlled mech. But he was so  _ angry. . . _

His fist connected with Megatron’s jaw in his blinded rage, and he sent the warlord stumbling. He froze, realizing what he had done, and realizing that he would be punished for it, but frag, he wanted to do it so bad. 

“So that’s how you feel. I’m not surprised.” Megatron chuckled, from somewhere ahead of him. There was distance between them now. “You know, you can have Ratchet when I’m done with him. Once he gives me my heir, and I get bored of fragging him, he’s all yours. Perhaps then you can spark him up with your offspring. That can be his new purpose, bearing sparklings for whoever I choose.” That angered Optimus even more than before. He knew that Megatron most likely didn’t mean that, but for Ratchet to be  _ used  _ in such a way. . . 

“Leave me.” Optimus felt his voice crack. He turned his back to Megatron, trying to calm his breathing.

“Fine then. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have quite the session planned.”

He was alone again. 

Hot tears made it down his cheeks. 

He just wanted to see Ratchet again. He just wanted to apologize and beg for forgiveness, and beg him to be strong. 

He wished it was his sparkling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry OP. <3


	6. Beaten Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see how our other boys are doing :))))))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got big plans you guys

Megatron’s throne room was the best place for thinking. Once the Autobots had been defeated, he wasted no time in setting his troops to work building a tall, jagged castle to loom over the desert in Jasper, covering the decimated Autobot base in it’s haunting shadow. Near the top of the grand tower, was Megatron’s throne room, walls open, providing a view across his new empire. His throne sat in the center, tall and crafted from long jagged plates. Pillars were decorated with crystal shards, and glowing purple insignias. Megatron was no diva, but a grand throne room was not below him. It provided the perfect, open, empty space to ponder.

He would pace, lean against the pillars, admire the view with his servos clasped behind his back. . .

And  _ think.  _

He was contemplating what he wished to do next for Optimus. The Prime wouldn’t stay alive forever, a public execution was in order. He would need to do that sooner rather than later, he wouldn’t want to be seen as  _ merciful _ to his new subjects. Despite what he had led to believe, the Autobots had remained on the feisty side. Ratchet threw things at him and his soldiers rather often, which was a nuisance at best. The medic was in no means a threat like the others could potentially be. Arcee had begun refusing work until she was allowed to see her separated comrades, despite the beatings she received for it. The two-wheeler was proving difficult to break. Bumblebee and Bulkhead were worked in the mines until exhaustion, starting early in the morning, pushed until they collapsed, and then sent to rest for a few hours before being sent back. Megatron kept them tired and sore, ensuring that their fight was dulled down. He knew that if they had more energy, they would resist and bite back, but while they were exhausted, hungry and worn down, they were easy to handle. But Megatron wanted more. . .  _ submission.  _

He wanted to see Arcee willingly working hard, he wanted to see Bumblebee and Bulkhead obeying easily without needing to be pushed to their limits, and he wanted to see Ratchet’s spirit finally die out. 

Optimus had always been a beacon of hope for his Autobots, as long as his spark beat for their cause, so did theirs, and so on and so on. . . So take that away. . .

Megatron curled his claws in thought, a slow vent leaving his frame. 

There was a click in his audio receptor, and the frantic voice of a vehicon broke in to his contemplation. 

_ “Lord Megatron, there has been an incident in the mines!”  _

Frustration bloomed in his optics, and he took a running leap right off the floor of his throne room, transforming and plummeting downward carefully.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bulkhead’s arms trembled as he lifted a rock as big as his wingspan, a weak grunt escaping him as he  _ heaved  _ it upward and stumbled forward. His legs ached, his back stung from the whip, his helm pounded, he was hurting so badly, and yet, the vehicons paid no mind, urging him onward as if he were some cheap droid. He pushed forward, carrying the rock to it’s designated pile, trying to keep his breathing long and slow. 

There was a shrill cry of pain from Bumblebee not too far behind him, and he stopped, hesitating to listen as a vehicon shouted over agonized sobs.

“Get  _ up,  _ Bug!” The harsh crack of a whip, and another cry. Bulkhead lowered the boulder to the ground and turned, shifting in the shackles around his ankles. Anger bubbled up in him as he watched the vehicon bring the whip down again, and again, Bumblebee curled up on the ground taking it, covering his face to stifle his sobs and screams of pain. Energon splattered as he was hit  _ again.  _ “Are you deaf? Get up!” 

::I-I can’t-t. . !:: The scout whimpered, screaming as he was hit yet again. 

“Knock that scrap off! Leave him alone!” Bulkhead barked furiously. 

“Get back to work, wrecker.” Another vehicon jerked on the chain hooked to his shackles. 

Bulkhead was the first to admit that he wasn’t the brightest of mechs. He often took an embarrassingly long time to understand jokes, he was never the one to make plans, he was never a leader. He knew that charging the vehicon right now was one of his dumber decisions. But that fury bubbling up in his chest, the sound of Bumblebee begging for the whip to stop. . .

His soreness was forgotten, and he lunged, slamming his fist into the vehicons faceplate, easily denting it in painfully and sending the abuser flying. Two more came running at him, and he struck them down just as easy, but the next came with an energon prod, and the next with another whip-

::Stop, Bulkhead stop!:: Bumblebee screamed as the wrecker charged the mech with the whip, leaving his backside open for a hard jab with the energon prod.

Bulkhead yowled and crumbled under the waves of electricity, feeling the whip coming down on him on top of it. 

::Stop! Stop it!:: He heard Bumblebee sob desperately, but his world was quickly fading, his vision exploding in black patches. 

The electricity suddenly stopped, and he was left gasping, optics whirling frantically in vain attempts to gain vision back. He turned over to find the beaten scout wrestling the energon prod away from the vehicon, his back a bloodied mess of gashes, dripping down his frame, and yet he fought as hard as he could, kicking at the vehicon desperately. 

The whip came down on Bulkhead again. 

He began scrabbling to get up, frame trembling weakly. 

_ “Lord Megatron, there has been an incident in the mines!” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Bumblebee and Bulkhead had nearly been beaten to death by the time Megatron arrived. Reinforcements had come, and they quickly subdued them, but seemed to believe that punishment was in order. Both of them were trembling heaps on the ground, dirty and bleeding, hardly conscious. Megatron transformed and landed in a cloud of dust, regarding the two beaten Autobots. “What happened?”   
  


“They fought back, My Lord. The wrecker attempted to protect the scout, and managed to kill three miners before we subdued him. The scout broke an energon prod and attacked one miner.” 

“So you  _ do  _ have some fire left in you,” Megatron drawled, approaching to tower over the two. Neither of them moved or acknowledged him, only trembled and groaned. “Hopefully you learned a lesson today.” He snapped at the vehicons. “Both of them to the medbay, now.” Thinking for a moment, he added, “Ratchet will treat them. Do not be generous in providing him with supplies. He’ll make due with whatever he can.”

Bulkhead was hardly able to absorb any of that, the only thing that really entered his processor and stuck was the mention of Ratchet’s name. He prayed that he would be able to see the medic.

  
  
  
  
  


Megatron wasn’t looking forward to visiting Ratchet after the prior events. He had heard that he had given the vehicons quite the earful when his beaten comrades were delivered to him, with limited medical care supplies. There was no doubt in Megatron’s mind that he would have something thrown at him. 

Even still, he entered the cell, finding Ratchet kneeling beside Bumblebee and helping him drink energon tenderly. The medic didn’t even acknowledge him, patting Bumblebee’s dented armor reassuringly before moving to help Bulkhead fuel, speaking softly to them. Megatron couldn’t remember ever seeing him so gentle. 

“I’m certain that you will restore them to working condition, Doctor.” The warlord tested.

Ratchet’s frame seemed to tense up in anger, but he didn’t answer, only continued tending to his wounded friends. 

“I will not be ignored, Ratchet.”

The medic closed his optics and gave a stressed sigh. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Megatron.” Bumblebee stirred at the mention of the warlord’s name, and he turned his helm to wearily look in his direction. 

“Then perhaps Optimus will be.” The threat barely had time to linger in the air before Ratchet rose to his pedes and turned to face him.

“Leave him the frag out of this,” the medic spat fiercely. “Haven’t you caused enough pain today?” He gestured to his patients. “You’ve nearly killed them, Megatron. Is Arcee being beaten like this as well?” 

“That is not your concern right now. Your job is to ensure that these two are able to work again as quickly as possible.” Megatron growled. “Do you understand?”

“You can’t keep working them like this, Megatron, you have to stop.” The fire left Ratchet in an instant, his voice becoming tired and worn. “Please.” He added with a long sigh.

Megatron let a smirk pull at the corners of his mouth. “No.” He turned on his heel and began for the exit. 

A wrench hit the back of his helm. 

It took every bit of self control to keep from whirling around and making that medic beg for mercy.

  
  
  
  
  


It seemed that Optimus’ sadness had turned to anger. When a vehicon entered his cell to feed him, he almost always sent them flying out the door. Fueling turned into opening the door, throwing the cube in and quickly closing the cell door again before he could get to them. Megatron quickly decided that he needed to be bound, again. Getting him into the chains was like wrestling a predacon. Megatron had to come and beat him down to shackle him, but even that was difficult, somehow Optimus managed to fight back, even against the energon prod. It didn’t make much sense to Megatron.

Arcee had nearly killed Knockout. The surgeon turned his back for one moment and she attacked, driving a blade into his shoulder, narrowly missing his throat. 

Why were all of the Autobots fighting back all the sudden? 

It was like starting back at square one.

Megatron was  _ frustrated.  _

It had seemed as though they had finally broken, and then Bumblebee and Bulkhead started a fight, and then Optimus and Arcee started acting up, and Ratchet was  _ always  _ feisty and hard to deal with. 

There was a next step to be taken. 

Megatron knew exactly how to break their spirits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody:
> 
> Not a single soul on Earth:
> 
> Not a single soul on Cybertron: 
> 
> EnchantedQuill: BUMBLEBEE NEEDS TO BE BEATEN TODAY


	7. The First Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating
> 
> And for what you're about to read

Team Prime was reunited. 

There was a swell of relief in the room, each Autobot laying eyes on their comrades and realizing with great ease that none of them had perished. Starscream had followed his master's orders in lining them all up along one wall- except for Optimus- and binding them on their knees. Optimus stayed on the other side of the large, vast cell, directly across from his teammates. 

He noted with a pang of sadness that this probably meant he was to be executed before his team. He had always hoped that they wouldn't have to see him offline like this, that it wouldn't be some sick display, but at least they were together again. 

Arcee, his strongest warrior, had shed tears of joy when she saw all of them alive and functioning. The vehicons had to restrain her from embracing Ratchet when he entered the cell, dragged by a pair of vehicons while he snarked the entire way. 

Bumblebee and Bulkhead were still very weak. Ratchet had fought hard against Megatron's demands, insisting that they needed to stay where they were. His concerns were unheeded, as surprising as it may seem. 

This was the first time Optimus saw Ratchet in person for quite some time. The last time they were together, Optimus had been forced to torture him and cause him horrific damage. Since then, Optimus had been shown memory after memory of Ratchet submitting to Megatron, agreeing to carry his hair. 

It hurt to see him, but he was glad that he got the chance before he offlined. 

"Arcee, are you hurt?" Ratchet was asking immediately after they had all been settled in where Megatron wanted them. "What about you, Optimus?"

"I'm fine, what happened to these two? Are you hurt?"

"They were beaten badly, but they are stable and will recover. Optimus?"

The Prime's spark swelled at his medic's soft optics meeting his own. "Thank you for looking out for them, Old Friend." He smiled weakly. It stung knowing that the mech he loved so dearly was sparked with his enemy's young. It was hard not to think about. 

"So why are we here?" Arcee shot a questioning stare in Starscream's direction. 

"Megatron isn't happy with your behavior. Today we are going to put an end to your resistance." The seeker was examining his claws impatiently. "I hope the lot of you are prepared to beg for mercy." His wings perked up at the sound of the cell door whipping open, Megatron entering the room. 

"I'd rather not waste any more of my time with this," the warlord snarled immediately, red optics flashing. "Perhaps it hasn't been made clear to you Autobots, but you  _ lost.  _ You have crumbled, you are weak and defenseless, at my mercy. Your fire is admirable, but has no purpose anymore. The resistance you have demonstrated is useless now. I have  _ generously _ -" Ratchet scoffed loudly at that, "Given you a chance to behave, and you have thrown it aside." He stood before the row of Autobots, armor hissing. "It is time for you to face the consequences of your defiance."

"Get fragged," Bulkhead mumbled.

Megatron didn't acknowledge him. He turned, regarding Optimus, who, in all honesty, had been spacing out and staring at Ratchet. He had heard enough of Megatron's speeches. With red optics now locked on him, he accepted with a sigh that this was where he died. He met Megatron's glare, refusing to waver as the warlord's fusion cannon roared to life.

"Don't you fragging dare!" Ratchet barked. 

"I'll slice your throat open," Arcee hissed. 

Optimus didn't feel afraid or anxious. Sad, if anything. Sad that he failed his Autobots, sad that he had betrayed his love. Sad that this was how he had to go. 

Megatron was grinning down at him. 

But something wasn't right.

Optimus felt a sickening suspicion that he wasn't going to be executed today.

Things happened quickly. Optimus barely had time to react.

Megatron turned on his heel, away from Optimus, his cannon ablaze. He fired once. 

Ratchet and Arcee shouted in alarm as the shot landed square in the middle of Bumblebee's chest.

The light was gone from his optics in an instant, an eruption of sparks and energon exploding from his destroyed sparkchamber. It was quick, his weak state pitching in to an instant, painless death. 

Megatron basked in the screams of grief and the clashing of chains for a moment, his cannon cycling down and dimming. "Escort them back to their cells. Careful with the two-wheeler, she is a handful when mourning. Do not approach Optimus."

As he left, he could still hear the Autobots shouting and crying out, echoing down the corridor. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ sorry ~
> 
> I know it was short and fast paced but I need to get past this part so the story can move on :)))))))))


	8. Quid Pro Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want ya'll to know that this hasn't been abandoned, I have just been working on other, much bigger projects.
> 
> If you want something to do while you wait, check out my newest fic-
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119906/chapters/63537721
> 
> This one is entirely pre-written, nine page chapters put up every other day. Give it some love please, it's my baby. 
> 
> Beg for Mercy WILL be finished! I'm going to transition it into a pre-written work, so have patience, there will come a day where it will be updated every day until it draws to a close. The chapter after this one is almost finished. It's happening, boys. 
> 
> Have funnnnn

_ Bumblebee's lifeless frame crumbled to the floor for the fifth time, in a mess of fire, torn plating and energon, before the room whipped around Optimus, and the scene replayed. _

He trembled in his restraints, pure, blinding fury in every centimeter of his form. The anger hadn't died down from the first time he saw it, the real termination of Bumblebee, and he hardly focused on the replays. He gave no reaction to the scene, only imploded with rage, his only movement the violent shaking in his armor. 

Why hadn't he been prepared for this? He knew that one of them would be terminated eventually, Megatron was cruel, and would throw it in his face at some point. He always thought he'd be the first one that Megatron slaughtered. 

Somehow, he was completely unprepared for Megatron to turn and fire at his teammates. To fire at the youngest, kindest soul he'd ever met. 

Optimus struggled to bring in breaths, his chest tight and burning.  He was going to rip Megatron's spark out. That warlord would pay for what he did, to Bumblebee, to Ratchet, to all of them. 

Megatron was frustrated that replaying Bumblebee's death did nothing to further distress Optimus. He pulled him from the patch instantly, before sending a trio of vehicons with prods in to get some sort of reaction from him. 

A few shouts of pain was all Megatron needed to feel better. He left the vehicons to enjoy themselves, leaving Optimus' cell and stalking down the corridor to check on the others. Hopefully they'd be a bit more interesting. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"My, what a pathetic mess you are." 

Ratchet didn't open his optics at the cruel voice. "I don't need this right now." He murmured blandly. He was sitting against a wall, shoulders slumped. There wasn't much energy in him to play Megatron's usual games. 

"I just want to talk, Dear Medic."

"I don't." The medic ignored the approaching pedesteps. 

"I think you'll find what I have to say very intriguing." His gaze was pulled upward by a rough servo. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve been doing to Optimus?” Megatron hoped to pique his curiosity.

“Horrible things, I’m sure.” Ratchet’s tired optics narrowed as he stared into Megatron’s deep red gaze. “Not unlike what you’ve done to the rest of us.”

Megatron knelt in front of him, releasing his chin and grinning. “I’d like to initiate a quid pro quo, Dear Medic. You tell me something, I tell you something.”

“You’re assuming that I  _ want  _ to know what you’re putting Optimus through.” 

“Don’t you?”

Ratchet vented, rubbing his optics. He felt exhausted. “Megatron, I don’t want to do this. Haven’t you done enough?” His voice cracked, and he fell silent. 

He had loved Bumblebee. He had adored the young mech, adored how strong he was, adored how resilient he was. Bumblebee had often come to him to vent or for support, and Ratchet always felt a kinship because of that. The sweet, young scout had bonded to him, and admittedly, Ratchet had thought of him like a son. All of that was gone now.

“Optimus believes that you are sparked.” 

Ratchet’s processor went blank for a moment. His servo fell and he looked at Megatron. “What?” He searched the warlord’s face for some sign of a joke. “Why the frag does he think that?”

“Quid pro quo.” Megatron’s optics sparkled in satisfaction. He had caught the medic’s attention. “Tell me, have you ever looked at Optimus in a romantic fashion?”

A hiss left Ratchet, and for a second, Megatron thought that he would be struck. “What kind of question is that, what is wrong with you, besides the obvious?” He snapped. “All of this scrap has gone to your head.”

“Don’t you want to know why Optimus believes you’re sparked? And what else he believes to be true? Don’t you want to know how I’ve tied you into his torture?” Megatron tapped his digits impatiently. Ratchet stared at him, glowering. “I thought so. Answer my question, and do it honestly. I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

Ratchet thought for a moment. “I did, once. When we were much younger, before you started a damn war.” 

Megatron nodded, humming in satisfaction. He didn’t quite believe all of that. “I have Optimus convinced that you have submitted yourself to me, and that you are carrying my sparkling.” He said at the medic’s expectant look.

“Wh. . . What do you have to gain from telling him that?” Ratchet sputtered. “Why would you do that?”

“Have you ever imagined interfacing with him?”

Ratchet scowled, and Megatron grinned. “Perhaps once or twice in the distant past, now why the frag-”

“Was it him spiking you?” 

“Megatron, this is perverted and disgusting,” Ratchet spat, gesturing angrily. “I’m not playing this game with you.”

The warlord chuckled, sitting back on his heel. “You have that Prime wrapped around your finger.” He watched Ratchet’s face closely as he spoke. “I doubt he’s been brave enough to tell you, but he is wildly,  _ pathetically, _ in love with you.” Ratchet’s face set to blank as he tried not to react. “It has given me quite the bargaining chip. All it took to break him was play a false memory of me putting a sparkling in you. The weak Prime blames himself for driving you right into my arms.” He reached out to stroke Ratchet’s cheek slowly. “He’s broken, Ratchet. Simply because he’s in love with you.”

Ratchet didn’t know what to say, he had no words. It was a lot to process. “That’s why you won’t let me see him.” He murmured quietly. 

“I will have to, eventually.” Megatron feigned sadness, sighing. “He’ll catch on when he notices you’ve failed to deliver a sparkling.” His engines rumbled in a menacing manner. “Which is why I am considering making this web of lies more than a false memory.”

Ratchet went rigid, and he swallowed. “I-I. . .”

“Considering, of course.” He leaned forward, whispering into the medic’s audial softly, “Though now that I am here with you, it is oh so tempting.” Ratchet’s optics closed, and his thoughts began to race. “Quid pro quo, Ratchet. Answer honestly, and I will leave you be, for now.” He rumbled. “Are you in love with your leader?”

Ratchet didn’t hesitate. He was very afraid at that moment. “Yes.”

Megatron laughed, rising to his pedes. He left the cell wordlessly. 


End file.
